The Seam Between Worlds
It wasn’t a doorway. It was a stitch coming undone.
A seamstress in Lisbon found a tear in her attic wall. Not a crack — a clean, threadlike rip. When she tugged it gently, it widened, showing glimpses of another world.
She saw herself there — older, smiling, surrounded by family she didn’t have.
Each night, she opened the seam wider. The other her reached out, hand trembling.
When neighbors checked on her days later, the attic was empty — but the wall was perfectly mended.
Underneath the plaster, faint threads of red cloth pulsed like veins.
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